Elio’s Notes: 心猿意马 is a classical idiom literally evoking a mind like a restless monkey and thoughts like an unbridled horse. It describes thoughts and desires that refuse to stay under control—a particularly apt title for Yan Xiaodao in this chapter.
Yan Xiaodao knew that a woman like Zhao Qifeng, with enormous wealth, influence, and the nerve to command wind and rain, could do certain things entirely according to her whims without much concern for consequences. Yan Xiaodao could not exactly do anything to her either, which was why she had nothing to fear. They all moved in the same circles, their interests entangled in a thousand different ways, and Yan had seen enough deception and scheming to know better than to personally run to Chairman Jian and complain that his wife kept male lovers outside the marriage and had tried to seduce him too. Perhaps the great Chairman Jian’s body was disabled and his principles equally weak, and he had known and tacitly permitted it all along! In any case, Yan Xiaodao absolutely could not be the one to say such a thing. He could only swallow the loss, learn to avoid her next time, and be careful no one framed him and left him covered in someone else’s stink.
Not only could he not expose or complain about any of it, the next time he saw these people he would still have to smile, exchange false pleasantries, and greet them warmly as though absolutely nothing had happened.
More and more often, he felt physically and mentally exhausted. The water in that pool seemed filthy beyond description. He wanted even more strongly to stay away from those demons and monsters and spend quiet, peaceful years only with the person beside him whom his heart favored.
It was already deep into the night when they got home. Loyal Master Bear and Third Lady ran out of their den half asleep and smeared both men’s faces with drool. As Yan Xiaodao carried Ling He upstairs and passed the Steinway in the living room, he asked, “Do you want the piano in the upstairs sitting room or downstairs in the main living room?”
Ling He asked in return, “Do you want to learn piano from me in the upstairs sitting room or downstairs?”
Yan Xiaodao smiled as warmth flowed through his chest. “…Upstairs?”
Ling He said, “All right.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “I’ll have people move it first thing tomorrow. I’ve already arranged for a tuner to come over.”
Mr. Ling, stripped of his jacket and trousers, looked relaxed and lazy. He wore one of Mr. Yan’s shirts with a pair of oversized shorts, somehow turning casual clothes worn around the house into the styling of a magazine model. His conspicuously long legs were bare, even his slender, bony feet possessing a strangely artistic elegance.
Ling He had originally intended to sleep, but perhaps he had eaten too many shrimp dumplings and siu mai. He rubbed his stomach, then lifted his own hair and sniffed. The smell hit him so hard that he collapsed face-first onto the bed in despair.
Yan Xiaodao teased him. “You’re trying to ask me to wash your hair for you, aren’t you?”
Ling He answered while lying flat on his back. “I truly couldn’t bear troubling the endlessly busy Mr. Yan to lower himself so graciously.”
Yan Xiaodao joked, “Long hair really absorbs secondhand smoke. Hurry up and cut it!”
Ling He said, “I’ve worn my hair like this since I was three. I’ve stubbornly refused to cut it short for twenty years and have no plans to change now.”
Ling He sat on a tall stool in front of the bathroom sink and bent forward. Yan Xiaodao stood silently behind him, using the lightest possible touch to smooth out the other man’s hair before gradually wetting it with warm water.
He deliberately left the bathroom door completely open, using the bright lights all around them and the sense of openness created by sounds traveling freely between upstairs and downstairs to cool his increasingly hot, restless body.
Yan Xiaodao had drunk a great deal at the reception. He had finished roughly a bottle and a half of red wine himself, plus more champagne than he could remember. He had always been a generous, heavy drinker; even while dealing with Zhao Qifeng, he had not felt flushed or intoxicated. Only now, washing Ling He’s hair in the silence of the night, did the alcohol’s delayed force finally make itself known. Standing beneath the yellow glow of the wall lamp, his vision blurred faintly and his fingers began trembling unnaturally.
His hands never trembled when they held a knife. Holding several wet, smooth, harmless strands of hair, they trembled.
He slowly worked up the lather and rubbed behind Ling He’s ears. Ling He thought he was being far too gentle. “Use some strength. Rubbing like that only makes me itch more.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “Itches?”
Ling He said, “I wasn’t itchy before. Now you’ve rubbed me until my whole body itches.”
“I’m not even tickling you.” Yan Xiaodao laughed helplessly. “My hands are too rough. I’m afraid it’ll be uncomfortable.”
Ling He mischievously thrust a single finger upward from below and jabbed Yan Xiaodao beneath the arm. Yan was caught completely unprepared. No one had ever touched that vulnerable spot before, and fire nearly exploded through his entire body….
Ling He snorted. “Where’s your knife? You’re not even carrying one…. Aren’t you afraid I’ll hurt you?”
Yan Xiaodao’s naturally deep voice sounded especially rich and seductive tonight. “Come on, then. Let me see how you plan to hurt me.”
For once, Ling He nearly stammered during a battle of words. Only because he was normally so quick-tongued did Xiaodao fail to notice. He almost blurted out, You’ve got the nerve to come in here without a knife? Aren’t you afraid I’ll rape you?
When rinsing out the shampoo, Yan Xiaodao carefully washed the foam from Ling He’s ears and the back of his neck. The skin of his fingertips and palms was covered with scars and hard calluses. Every time he touched Ling He’s skin, Yan felt apologetic. Having him give someone a massage would probably feel roughly equivalent to sanding them down with coarse paper.
The curve of Ling He’s nape looked beautiful. Quite a lot of water still ran down his neck and chest. The man lifted the shirt and roughly wiped his own face and the water away, his indistinct complaints disappearing into the folds of fabric. His temper and manner were unusually soft, making him seem like an entirely different person from the overbearing, acid-tongued man who had verbally shredded the great celebrity Mai only a few hours earlier.
Yan Xiaodao gently wrung the water from Ling He’s hair. Just then, the phone in his trouser pocket rang.
It was one of Qi Baoshan’s routine check-in calls.
Yan Xiaodao genuinely hesitated for a moment. Yet precisely because Ling He was right there, he could not refuse to answer. Not answering would expose far too clearly the embarrassing truth of how reluctant he was to pull himself away from this moment. He really was not the kind of person who clung intimately to anyone.
Yan Xiaodao walked into the other bathroom with a dark expression and, as usual, crouched on top of the closed toilet lid. His toilet seats had to be replaced unusually often because of this habit. His godfather always mocked him for it, saying he looked like some peasant squatting on a doorstep with an enormous bowl of noodles. Fucking rustic.
“Xiaodao, just letting you know I’ll be back in a few days.” After several casual remarks about everyday matters, Qi Baoshan abruptly moved to the point.
Perhaps it was only a test, but it struck Yan exactly where intended. It was as though lightning cracked directly over his head. Even through the telephone, one could almost sense Yan Xiaodao’s heart skipping three beats and his brain waves suddenly going wild as he went on alert. “…Mm. All right. Tell me which day and I’ll pick you up.”
Qi Baoshan unmistakably gave a cold laugh, though he did not sound genuinely angry. “Xiaodao, the story’s gone all around the circles. It traveled across eight provinces and reached even me. Godfather’s got a joke for you. The joke goes like this… apparently some male fox spirit bent my perfectly, perfectly straight Yan Xiaodao! I’m just killing time and talking shit with you. Is there such a thing or not?”
Yan Xiaodao was speechless. His temples hurt as Qi Baoshan’s barely suppressed laughter came over the phone. Qi snorted. “Heh-heh. Don’t fucking stammer around and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re my son. Is this the first time I’ve ever asked you about something like this? If you did, say you did. If you didn’t, say you didn’t.”
Yan Xiaodao answered tightly, “What exactly have people been telling you? No. I haven’t slept with him.”
Qi Baoshan cursed cheerfully, “If you fucked him, just say you fucked him! I’m not worried that you slept with him or screwed him. What I’m worried about is that you didn’t—but you’ve already fallen for him and lost your way.”
Yan Xiaodao answered frankly, “No. Even behind your back, I genuinely haven’t done that with him.”
Qi Baoshan sighed helplessly, almost sounding sorry for him. “Xiaodao, I knew it. You haven’t done a damn thing. Never even had the chance to get your hands on him. Outsiders don’t know shit.”
“…” Yan Xiaodao wondered whether Master Qi had installed a camera under his master-bedroom bed.
Qi Baoshan spoke slowly. “What kind of person do you think Ling Huang’s son is? Do you know what he used to do? You underestimate him. You think he lets just anyone get their hands on him? I wouldn’t believe that myself. A demon like that comes out to bite and harm people, not to play romantic games with you. You think he’s somebody who lets himself suffer losses?”
Out of the entire lyrical stream of criticism, Yan Xiaodao seized on one line. “What did he used to do?”
For once, Master Qi’s voice carried genuine distaste. “I’m someone’s father too. I raised a son who isn’t related to me by blood, and even I can’t stomach certain things. I find them shameful, which is why I never wanted to tell you.
“If I told you Ling Huang and his own biological son had something filthy and improper between them—that Ling Huang himself crippled his son’s legs and kept him confined for his own use—would you believe me? If I told you Ling Huang may not even be dead, and that father and son had been together all along, would you believe that? Otherwise, a crafty old fox like Watanabe Yangshan could lose this badly to a twenty-year-old brat? Of course, it’s all jianghu rumor. No one saw him alive after prison and no one saw a body either. In any case, nobody personally watched Ling Huang’s corpse come out and get cremated.”
Still crouched on the toilet, Yan Xiaodao closed his eyes and used the trembling movement of his throat to suppress the sudden violent nausea churning through his stomach.
Master Qi probably continued talking about other scattered details. Yan did not hear them clearly. He spent several minutes forcing the turbulence in his stomach back down. He had already been dizzy from drinking.
His godfather had no reason to deliberately lie to him.
But someone made up a jianghu rumor like this and people actually believed it?
Had the people spreading that filth ever even met Young Master Ling himself?
His godfather and he were vines wrapped around the same stake: they prospered together and fell together. Qi Baoshan had no reason to deliberately reverse right and wrong. But Yan Xiaodao also trusted his own judgment. He was nearly thirty and had seen more human-shaped demons and monsters than he could count. His instinct told him Ling He simply was not “that kind of person.” Ling He showed him two different faces, with intensely distinct likes and dislikes, but neither face belonged to “that kind of person.”
Under the stars in the little white country house, Ling He had once told Yan Xiaodao that his father loved his mother very much.
Ling He’s mocking rage toward Watanabe Yangshan, his stern hostility toward You Haodong, his contempt for Jian Mingjue, and his merciless sarcasm toward Mai Yunliang—Yan Xiaodao could still recite almost word for word what Ling He had said while whipping and cursing Watanabe on Yilu Island. Every word suited Yan’s own beliefs and struck directly into his heart. Every line exposed something branded into Ling He’s bones and blood. In Yan’s view, those convictions were almost the only cards Ling He had ever laid completely face-up—because on most other subjects, the bastard probably lied plenty.
A man as aloof, proud, even vain and arrogant as Ling He would never willingly become another person’s private sexual possession or accept an incestuous, degrading relationship. Yan Xiaodao considered Ling He his kindred spirit in precisely this regard. They recognized and admired the same thing in one another. No outsider could sow distrust between them on this point.
Qi Baoshan suddenly went quiet before speaking earnestly. “Xiaodao, we’ve been father and son all these years, and we’ve still got a long road ahead. Everything I have will be left to you. I worry you won’t be able to shoulder this family business when the time comes. You should understand how I’ve treated you.”
Yan Xiaodao’s heart sank. “Godfather, what are you saying? If I don’t know how you’ve treated me, what kind of ungrateful, heartless bastard would that make me?”
Qi Baoshan cut him off. “I’m only sincerely warning you this once. That Ling boy is absolutely no kindhearted creature, and he doesn’t harbor one inch of goodwill toward us. Fuck him if you want, but don’t—fall—for—him. I’ll be back soon, but I’m still worried about you. I’m afraid you’ll fall into his trap and get ruined by someone with ulterior motives.”
“I won’t. Thank you for warning me, Godfather. I’ll be careful,” Yan Xiaodao said.
Qi Baoshan finished, “If you think the kid’s too much trouble and you can’t control him, throw him straight out onto the street. Someone will naturally pick him up. Better than holding a huge problem in our hands until we can neither advance nor retreat. We can’t kill him, and we sure as hell can’t worship him.”
…
Yan Xiaodao ended the call and slapped himself hard across the face several times to keep too much emotion from showing. He remained crouched on the toilet for a long time before finally standing.
Under the bathroom lights, Ling He sat motionless on the tall stool with his head tilted back and his eyes closed in rest. His hair had already been dried, yet the rest of him looked as though he had been dipped into the bathtub. The white shirt was soaked through, clinging transparently against his skin and revealing a seamless wash of beautiful flesh tone beneath. One unruly drop of water slid down from his temple, mischievously tracing the lines of his neck before slipping into his collar and disappearing into warm honey-colored skin.
Beauty lay in the bones rather than the skin. Beneath the light, the outline of his profile looked sculpted and painted.
Ling He turned his face toward him. “Master Qi called.”
Yan Xiaodao said, “How did you know?”
Ling He looked at him with genuine concern. “Your face looks like somebody just hit you. Only Qi Baoshan can force that expression out of you. You might as well throw me onto the street and spare yourself this suffering, caught between two sides and unable to please either. Mr. Yan, I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”
Yan Xiaodao laughed helplessly. He wanted to applaud Ling He’s insight. He wanted to step forward and kiss this man’s face, his contours, his lips…. They had never done anything at all, yet Yan Xiaodao truly had fallen for him.
Yan Xiaodao stared into Ling He’s eyes. “I hit myself.”
“Don’t. Your face must hurt. There’s no reason to make yourself suffer like that.” Ling He shook his head in disapproval. Sometimes his mind was mature enough to be frightening, yet in the next instant he was smiling with bright anticipation. “Mr. Yan, tomorrow I’ll teach you a piece. You’re allowed to request one. Pick anything you want and I’ll teach you!”
Mr. Yan did not sleep well that night.
He refused to admit it had anything to do with Ling He. The main reason was that he had been drinking and his head hurt slightly. Another important reason was that somebody was fucking directly beneath the window of his guest room.
Overhearing people fucking had been an entirely unwanted accident. That particular bastard had probably forgotten in the heat of the moment that their boss had recently moved into the guest room rather than the master bedroom, and that the guest-room window sat only a few meters above this very wall. More importantly, Kuanzi had recently started dating a woman who was somewhat connected to the demimonde, and the two seemed to be getting genuinely serious. Kuanzi knew his boss never brought women home to stay overnight, so he did not dare break the household rule himself. But when it was time to part, neither could let go. They stared at each other beneath the moon, glued together by desire, and finally could not resist having a wild outdoor fuck against the wall.
The whole thing was absurd. Yan Xiaodao normally did not care if his brothers fooled around outside. They were hot-blooded young men. Who didn’t have ordinary human desires? If you liked a woman, don’t let her get away—that was something he himself told his brothers.
It was simply too close. Their hurried, chaotic breathing carried unmistakable heat and genuine feeling. The base of the window might as well have been beside Yan’s bed. Every sound pounded like a drum, and under the influence of alcohol it felt as though his bed itself were about to catch fire.
If he opened the window and stretched out an arm, he could flick Kuanzi directly on the head, or throw a shoe down, or dump a basin of water over the pair. But that would be too damned dishonorable. A gentleman ought to possess the virtue of helping others fulfill a good thing.
Yan Xiaodao could practically feel the wall beside his bed moving. He could even count the rhythm of the rocking. In the darkness he silently turned over and wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, desperately suppressing the abnormal behavior of his lower body that had stopped listening to his brain…. Beneath his hand came an indignant awoo, followed by frantic rolling and panting. Innocent Third Lady had been pinched awake. She gave an offended howl, scrambled off the bed, and rolled straight into her husband’s embrace.
Even dogs came in pairs.
Yan Xiaodao silently climbed out of bed and shut himself inside the bathroom.
He was a hot-blooded man too. He had ordinary human desires too.
The cold water pouring from the shower finally diluted the burning heat of his skin, yet still could not extinguish the blazing fire inside his heart.
Yan Xiaodao did not take off his sleep clothes. He lowered his head and watched as his undershirt and shorts rapidly became soaked and translucent beneath the freely splashing water, revealing even, wheat-colored muscle underneath. He pressed his forehead against the wet tile, yet an intoxicated smile kept spreading across his lips. He imagined that faint honey-colored skin, that fine and perfect body, those long legs, long hair, and trembling throat…. His rough fingers nearly chafed the most sensitive part of himself raw. He desperately wanted to pull the hand he dreamed of out of the white mist and make fantasy and reality overlap beautifully against his body.
At last, a string of low gasps broke from Yan Xiaodao’s throat, only to disappear beneath the streaming water and curling steam without disturbing anyone.
…
Over the next two days, the professional tuner Mr. Yan had hired came repeatedly to adjust the concert-grade piano.
Part of the reason was that a certain client was twelve parts fastidious, terrified that they might somehow mistreat the expensive instrument Mr. Yan had bought out of affection. If his legs had worked properly, Mr. Ling practically looked ready to crawl inside the keyboard and action himself, picking through all those fantastically complicated mechanical components one by one.
That afternoon, Mr. Yan had a simple lunch with several secretaries and subordinates in the fast-food section downstairs from the company. With one hand in his pocket, he strolled through the first-floor business lobby and casually detoured into the coffee shop.
The shop did not belong to one of those giant chain brands flooding every street with over-diluted coffee. It was independent, distinctive, and somewhat artsy. The owner was a young man from out of town who had only recently opened the place. It did not look likely to earn back much of his investment, but at least he was sincere and serious about doing business. Yan Xiaodao had never particularly liked coffee. Then one night on his way home from work he bought Ling He two promotional buy-one-get-one latte frappes recommended by the owner and, unusually, received Mr. Ling’s approval. The feeling of the two of them drinking identical cups together had been quite pleasant…. As a result, Yan Xiaodao had now become a VIP points customer who supported the shop every day.
The young owner was pretty cool and did not especially flatter his VIP customer. He merely nodded. “Boss, what’ll you have?”
Yan Xiaodao narrowed his eyes at the blackboard menu. “That one you recommended yesterday. What was it called…?”
The cool young man had already turned to get a cup. “Iced soy matcha latte. One moment.”
Yan Xiaodao smiled. The kid remembered.
The customer directly behind him ordered something too. While waiting for his coffee, Yan Xiaodao casually looked up—and froze. He was terrible at remembering the names of fancy coffee because he never wasted mental space on trivial things, but his memory for human features was excellent. This customer had hidden his entire face beneath a hat, sunglasses, and a large PM2.5 mask. No one around them recognized the celebrity.
Yan Xiaodao knew at a glance that it was Mai Yunliang.
He recognized the contour running from Mai Yunliang’s neck down toward the collarbones. The muscle narrowed inward there, the neck itself taut and long, with bluish veins standing out in a distinctive pattern. Paying attention to details like these was sometimes necessary. If one wanted to cut specifically into a major artery and let someone bleed, or avoid that artery and poke only a small hole without killing them, one needed that kind of precision. That was also why Yan Xiaodao occasionally looked at other people’s shoddy handiwork and could not resist complaining to Bureau Chief Bao that the person responsible was obviously an amateur who had simply hacked away at random.
Mai Yunliang lowered his head as he approached and nodded politely. Yan Xiaodao returned a faint “Hello,” then reached for his coffee. He had actually been prepared to pretend he had not recognized the man at all.
Through the mask, Mai Yunliang’s voice sounded thick and muffled, as though passing through another layer of skin. “Mr. Yan, I’m taking the first flight back to Hong Kong tomorrow morning. We may not have another chance to meet. Could I borrow you for a private conversation?”
Yan Xiaodao politely refused without giving him any face. “I’ve got a meeting in a moment. I have to leave as soon as I get my coffee.”
Even through the sunglasses, Yan could read the disappointment, difficulty, and pleading in Mai Yunliang’s eyes, and it made him soften. He genuinely did not dislike the man. This was entirely because of Ling He. Even when Ling He was not standing before him monitoring his movements, Yan believed he ought to avoid anything that might invite suspicion. He had already fallen for the bad-tempered, jealous Mr. Ling, so there was no reason to place himself in compromising situations with other people.
Mai Yunliang suddenly moved closer. “Mr. Yan, there’s something I want to tell you. Do you know what kind of person that Mr. Ling beside you really is? Do you know why he guards you so fiercely against letting me speak to you?… I saw him many years ago. I know him.”
Yan Xiaodao’s pupils abruptly contracted. Even though he deliberately tried to remain composed and appear unshaken, the involuntary narrowing and widening of the pupils was difficult to conceal.
Yan Xiaodao gave a low grunt. “What do you mean?”
Mai Yunliang said nothing else. He turned around and walked away.
Yan Xiaodao strode quickly after him and out through the shop door. Behind them, he vaguely heard the young owner shouting, “Hey, sir, your coffee!”….
Mai Yunliang hurried toward his private car beside the office building like a frightened bird. The instant he pulled the door open, Yan Xiaodao stopped it with one palm. With a light flick of his fingers, Yan removed the mask from Mai’s face, exposing pale skin and breathlessness. “Explain what you meant before you leave.”
Mai Yunliang said, “Mr. Yan, could you get in the car? We can find a café or teahouse. Please don’t misunderstand my intentions.”
Yan Xiaodao stared at the car for a moment, hesitated, then took the keys. “I’ll drive. Tell me where you want to go.”
The outward reason Yan offered was considerate enough: this was the mainland, and Mr. Mai was not accustomed to driving on the right, so he should not be driving recklessly. In truth, Yan was simply habitually cautious. He wanted the car keys and steering wheel under his own control and did not casually ride in other people’s cars.
The moment he handled it, he could tell the expensive car performed well. Yan Xiaodao glanced disdainfully into the rearview mirror at a certain little gray car in the distance that looked as though it was preparing to activate its tracking routine. “Hold on tight, Mr. Mai.”
Mai Yunliang had not even processed the warning before Yan Xiaodao shot onto the road. At the end of the central divider, he suddenly cut hard across, stealing the gap in front of an oncoming car for a sharp U-turn that sent the rear of the vehicle swinging outward. Then he plunged down the frontage road, turned right, and vanished from surrounding sightlines. Behind them came furious horns, curses, and screeching brakes. By the time anyone attempted to follow, Yan had already driven five kilometers away.
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